


the art of shifting gears

by inverse



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Racing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverse/pseuds/inverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tokyo drift, 2 fast 2 furious, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the art of shifting gears

**Author's Note:**

> written for bps challenge 41, character battle.

“You should have asked for his contact number if you wanted it,” Kagami said, reaching into his bag of chips for more. They were seated on the hoods of their cars, parked right off a road next to an anonymous coast, eating stuff that they bought from a nearby, empty burger joint with absolutely no traffic at all.

“And do what with it?” Aomine asked, finishing off his Coke.

“You’re asking me,” Kagami replied. “You’re the one who looks like you still want to ask him out –” he looked away when Aomine glared at him – “for another drive.”

There was just quiet for the next few minutes as they ate in silence, staring out at the lake, which was turning orange with the sunset. Then, Aomine asked again, “Kagami. Am I an idiot?”

“Totally,” said Kagami, hopping off onto the asphalt. “C’mon, one more round, and then we can go home. I’m beat.”

 

*

 

Two months ago Aomine had taken some time off from his team to go for a break, in Australia, to get away from the cold. It was summer in February over there. He’d gone with the intention to enjoy the sun and surf and beaches and babes, but of course he wound up looking up the street races. Incorrigible. There was a bunch of racers in Sydney who were more than happy to let him join them for a few runs when they heard that he was from the Touou Black Devils.

He was approached one balmy afternoon by a tall, blonde guy who looked like he could have been a fashion model, or something. He didn’t figure that these types hung out at street races. Even better, he didn’t figure that he’d find someone else who spoke Japanese in these parts, but as fate would have it, model boy was from Japan. He was probably new to the sport, since Aomine had never met anybody like that back home. Maybe he just liked watching.

“This afternoon, at Eastern Creek. I was watching you race, you were great,” he said by way of introduction, climbing casually onto the stool next to Aomine, who was having lunch at a bar near the circuit. “Ah, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Kise Ryouta!”

“Aomine Daiki.”

“Aominecchi it is, then!”

“Hey, don’t go around giving pet names to people you’ve just met.”

Kise was studying in Australia, since his parents worked there. He was completely new to the world of street racing, having been introduced to it by a couple of friends just a while ago. After a bit of pestering, Aomine gave in to his requests for some beginner lessons. He was hesitant at first, even though he was raring to go, but he really got the knack of it quickly. If they’d met in Japan, Aomine would have tried to bring him back to the team, by hook or by crook. Kise had some real talent. Over the span of two weeks, he was able to handle a full circuit by himself. He drove fearlessly, sometimes going even faster than Aomine did when he was a beginner himself, and all Aomine really could do was ride shotgun and snap out instructions and tips from time to time as Kise manoeuvred the old, banged-up Chrysler that Aomine had borrowed from one of the local racers.

“You’re seriously good, for someone who’s just started. And I don’t hand out praise easily,” Aomine said. It was the second last day of his vacation, and all he’d done was teach Kise how to race. Only recently had he noticed the silver earring that peeked out from under Kise’s bleached hair, on his left ear. “I’d race you, but you have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning against me, so let’s just pretend I didn’t raise the issue.”

“You’re pretty smug, Aominecchi,” Kise said in return, laughing. “But I’ll let it slide.”

Teaching Kise how to drive reminded Aomine of why he’d started racing in the first place. It’d gotten difficult to remember why recently, when all he had were victories and losses and the same old roads stacked up against him, which was why he wanted to go on a break. Being on the road with Kise got the blood in his veins running, made him want to better himself over and over again. Maybe it was part and parcel of the joy of teaching, or maybe it was something else altogether. He hadn’t felt this way since he saw Horikita Mai in person at a fanmeeting when he was eighteen.

“It’s my last day here tomorrow,” he began, stumbling over a couple of words. What was he, a lovestruck teenager? “Maybe you wanna meet at the beach for a couple of drinks? Before I go home.”

Kise stared at him curiously, hands still on the steering wheel, then broke into a grin. “Sure. Anything for Aominecchi.”

That night, Aomine waited, but Kise never turned up. He ended up having a few lonely beers by himself at the makeshift bar at the entrance of the beach and getting laughed at by the bartender, a cheery guy in his forties who always wore a tie-dye shirt, for being stood up. Someone who could drive so quickly and easily and carelessly, he thought a bit drunkenly, Heineken in hand, was probably never the type to take anything seriously at all, anyway.

 

*

 

“What the fuck you staring at,” Aomine snarled, steering Momoi away from a crowd of wolf-whistling thugs who were standing by the sidelines and ogling at her cleavage. Then, turning to Momoi, he said, “Did you even notice how lecherous those guys were looking? If you wore more clothes people wouldn’t mistake you for a fucking race queen.”

“It’s race night. I’ll wear whatever I like,” was the immediate reply, but Momoi pulled her standard issue leather team jacket around her shoulders a little self-consciously. “Anyway, Dai-chan, you should worry about yourself. You’re starting the race tonight. I heard that they’ve got a new ace on their team, so you’d better not lose.”

“Ha. Like anyone could get me beat.”

They were racing a team from Kanagawa that night, the Kaijou Tornados. Kaijou were a pretty old team, but they were helmed by Kasamatsu Yukio, who’d been in the game at least eight years now, since he was a teenager. Even if Aomine didn’t like him, he’d have to show him some respect. He was mouthy about it, sure, but Kasamatsu had an eye for recruiting new talent, after all.

“They’re here,” Imayoshi said, clapping his hand on Aomine’s shoulder just as he was looking under the hood of his Mitsubishi to check that everything was in order. “Wanna go check out the competition before we start?”

“Yeah,” Aomine replied, slamming the hood shut. He was set.

The race queens were all gathered round the Tornados when Aomine got there. “What, they got a Johnny’s on their team?” Aomine asked, not bothering to hide his contempt, and Imayoshi just said, his usual dark grin plastered all over his face, “Well, you should see for yourself. He’s a real looker. Light years ahead of you, Aomine-kun.”

Aomine squinted. The expressway was dark at this time of the night – there were hardly any streetlamps – and all he had for visual aids were the headlights of the vehicles that were present. “Alright, clear out, we’ve got a race to take part in,” came Kasamatsu’s voice from the middle of the crowd, and then for a split second the face of the newcomer was clear – a clean, chiselled jaw, with big, round eyes and a mop of silky blonde hair – what? This was clearly someone’s idea of a huge fucking joke.

“Ah! Aominecchi,” said Kise excitedly, half-jogging down the road to meet him.

Aomine was lost for words. “You? I thought you were a beginner. What the hell are you doing on a pro team? I thought you were studying in Australia? You major in business administration? Right?”

“Studying?” Kise asked brightly. “I was on holiday.”

“Holiday,” Aomine repeated, mind going blank.

Imayoshi grabbed Aomine by the arm and led him to his car, and Aomine watched as Kasamatsu too led Kise away to a Nissan Skyline. “Seems like we interrupted a touching reunion, but we’re running short on time,” he said, patting Aomine lightly on his chest, the ugly grin still between his ears. “You rattled? You can’t afford to be. We’ve got stakes riding on tonight’s match.”

“Hell no I’m not rattled,” Aomine grit out as he got into his car, but the expression on his face must have been frightening, because Sakurai almost had a seizure and went “I’m so, so sorry!” as Aomine passed him by. As he wore his seatbelt, he turned to his right to look into Kise’s Nissan, and found him staring back already.

“Let’s do our best, Aominecchi,” he said, smiling. His earring gleamed faintly. Then he gave Aomine a wink across the windows of their cars, and drove off in a flash of yellow as soon as the gunshot sounded.

“Fucking son of a bitch,” Aomine mumbled, not sure whether he was directing it at Kise or himself. His voice sounded unreal even to his own ears. Then he stomped on the accelerator.


End file.
